


little pistol

by haesuns



Category: LOONA (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Small Town, Ambiguous Relationships, F/F, Guns, Murder, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, the m is just for the murder and weird relationship nothing else!!!, vaguely yyxy concept inspired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:40:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22870390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haesuns/pseuds/haesuns
Summary: A girl can pray to the heavens all she wants, but Eden will always come crashing down upon her head.
Relationships: Park Chaewon | Go Won/Son Hyejoo | Olivia Hye
Comments: 20
Kudos: 43





	little pistol

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dimsum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dimsum/gifts), [funkism](https://archiveofourown.org/users/funkism/gifts).



> i would like to preface this by saying that murder is BAD and i adore soft hyewon but i am asked to write unhinged fic so i have no choice but to deliver. love u guys :]

Chaewon wakes up on the wrong side of reality with leaves in her hair and blood on her hands.

A number of thoughts come to mind in a very particular order—a camera sweeping over a reeling scene, jerked to the present before it inevitably plummets to the ground in its realization.

One: the sky—and perhaps something else—will swallow her whole if she doesn't get the hell out of this field, these hills. It's a sensation felt in the gut, twisting her stomach as trembling hands go still and eyes rise to meet the horizon. Dim clouds drag across the mountaintops in a grey light that whispers of dawn, but not quite. Not yet.

Two: the hands. Ah, right. Her hands. Perhaps they wouldn't look so bad held up against the sky like this, barely visible at this time of day, but the stickiness between her fingers reminds her otherwise. Chaewon turns them, watches the faintest of light bounce off as though they were kaleidoscopic instead of drenched in blood that the river could never dream of washing away.

Three—

"I didn't think you had it in you."

Of course. Chaewon laughs, brittle and lilting.

Three: a girl can pray to the heavens all she wants, but Eden will always come crashing down upon her head. A reminder, maybe, that everything comes at a price, bloodied feet pounding against the ground eternally. And what better use of a harbinger than to chain her to Chaewon, never less than three paces behind her?

But, a shadow without light finds itself rendered useless. Where, then, does it linger?

"Don't play pretend, Hyejoo. It was only a matter of time."

Hyejoo's smile twists knowingly, and the world catches fire.

-

Here's an idea.

A girl is irrevocably lost amidst the trappings of a small town with nothing but its cracked roads to guide her. They weave between old houses, monotonous in their simplicity, leading her up to the church with chipped white paint and plants between the floorboards. It sits at the very edge of town, and only her footsteps have been the ones to meet this floor in years.

She'll kneel down, not for any particular god or reason, a delicate motion so as to not splinter the skin. Mother never took well to such complaints; better to avoid the source of them, even if she's not here. Still, try for a prayer or two—maybe it'll get you somewhere. Lingering for too long is never pleasant.

Then: "Are you religious?" a girl asks out of the blue, leaned against the wooden railing outside the church just as Chaewon exits and approaches the steps. Her eyebrows raise at the question, lips parting before she shakes her head subtly.

"I'm not." Simple answer, clear-cut and concise. No point in contemplating the rationale. The girl just hums, falls silent and lets the late-summer air wash over them both, backs faintly lit by the sun through the foliage. Brushes black, wind-tousled locks from her face, eyes grazing over Chaewon's figure.

"Then why visit so often? Hoping there's some god gracious enough to purge your sins?"

Another idea.

This is reality, not just a concept. The girl named Hyejoo is everywhere, and her existence pervades every corner of the town once the sun sets. But here Chaewon is in the afternoon light, and it seems she's finally been able to pin Hyejoo down to a single definitive place, force her into a state of continuous existence.

Perhaps most interesting, though, is her expression. A little curious, a lot goading, the church's shade casting her in shades of gunmetal grey as the beginnings of a smirk play upon her lips.

"My sins are none of your business," Chaewon says, not sparing a glance as she descends the white stairs, and the telltale footsteps of Hyejoo following suit succeed her own.

"You've changed, haven't you?" The words are spoken as a call, freezing Chaewon to the concrete before she jams her hands into the pockets of her coat and turns. And there Hyejoo is, an odd light of scornful triumph in her eyes like the castaway pieces have almost fallen into place. "You've had your fun playing innocent, and look where it's gotten you. You can't keep pretending that you don't care."

A shooting object that finds impact in her chest, clenched knuckles going white, and Chaewon doesn't remember Hyejoo stepping closer, but here they stand regardless. It feels like a trap—it _is_ a trap, but running is futile. Being lost is irreversible, remember?

"Leave it alone, Hyejoo. You've done the exact same thing as me. It's the only reason you're here."

Maybe the prayer will get her somewhere. Hopefully not here nor a place in the past, but somewhere.

"The exact same thing, you say?"

A useless distance between them grows smaller, and Chaewon's breath catches in her throat traitorously, hands flinching upwards in some habitual motion long-repressed. But never forget that this is reality, not a daydream, not a world where Hyejoo would still take well to a hand resting over the collarbone in forgotten familiarity. Cold snap, rewind. Overwrite the footage.

Chaewon doesn't answer the question.

-

Warmth is a lot of things in Chaewon's memory. The feeling of Hyejoo's hand in her own, cheeks flush with pink, soft lips and gentle hands. The tug of her heart toward Hyejoo, the sun in her eyes.

(Give it a bit; the present is sooner than you think.)

Hyejoo always seems to have a name for Chaewon: love, dear, darling, among other things.

_You're my only love, you know that?_ she says in the hush of the forest, leaves fresh underfoot and the distant buzz of birds and insects.

_We're still young, dear,_ spoken as Chaewon's own throat threatens to suffocate her with the suggestion of inescapable truth. They can't stay here forever. Paradise was never an option.

_It'll be easy, darling. Take your time. I'll always be right behind you._ For this, Chaewon has never felt more foolish. Hyejoo has never been a liar, but the sun has been in her eyes for far too long, and sin is much more than meets the eye. How much must a heart prioritize reward over consequence before it inevitably self-destructs?

The doll breaks from its strings suspended in its sky, and porcelain is much too fragile to fall from such heights. Brace for impact; the end of the world is here on earth. Take the plunge and hope you don't drown.

Warmth is the feeling of scraped knees and hands, skin tarnished with dirt, a welling of salty tears and crimson pooling from a still body in the dead of summer. A means to an end, stumbling with lost divinity, blood that looks a little too much like ichor for comfort.

Once was enough. It isn't meant to be replayed.

What a useless sentiment.

Knelt on the cold tile of a kitchen floor, Chaewon traces unsent love letters into the bloodied wood of rotting cabinets. In another world, perhaps, she writes them for a girl who is softer, kinder, not so full of hatred for the world. The kind of girl Hyejoo used to be, and the kind of girl Chaewon likes to think of herself as.

The camera angle's a bit skewed, quality grainy; she pulls the ribbon from her hair, lets the braid loose in dark waves, plays catch-up with all the life she's missed for nineteen years. _We're still young, dear._ Her shadow always points home despite how harshly she resists. _Take your time._ She doesn't know how long her knees have been pressed against the kitchen floor.

It's almost nice, isn't it?

Knees bruised from praying. Throw in something else to distract from the throb, stop thinking about the heat, the warmth, the—

Oh?

Chaewon turns at the blessed press of cool metal to her temple and smiles. It's certainly fun to feel a new type of alive rather than the one she's been chasing uselessly.

"Why do you choose to play these games in the one place a god won't protect you?"

Hyejoo's lips curl into a sneer, and Chaewon gives herself a moment to simply size her up. Flushed cheeks. Looks like she ran to get here, judging from the mess her hair is in. Towering over where Chaewon sits, and for once, it'd seem like Chaewon had become the shadow if not for the fact that _Hyejoo_ followed _her_.

She places one hand onto the tile to push herself up, another around the barrel of the gun just to watch Hyejoo's lips twitch downwards.

"This was never a game."

"Yet you treat it like one, _Chaewon_." She spits her name like a death wish, maybe even with fond disgust, and Chaewon's laughter comes out hard and metallic with blood. The nicknames have long rotted away.

"What's the problem? Your little doll decides to take life for herself, and you're going to act like you didn't create this? You've seen it with your own eyes now, Hyejoo."

Chaewon tightens her grip on the gun and points it towards her own heart. A flicker in Hyejoo's eyes. _There it is_. Fingers slip away from the trigger until Chaewon's the only one holding onto the pistol, and satisfaction finds its way into her gut, twisting sickly in time with the grasp of Chaewon's hand in the front of Hyejoo's shirt.

The kiss tastes like betrayal, and Chaewon is certain Hyejoo must taste it, too. It's a gospel for the fallen, a weapon of faith that can only be yielded against lost girls with guns at their sides and gasoline lips.

Chaewon wonders where she left her lighter.

-

Every question answers itself in due time; this, she is sure of, rifling through her drawers for the missing piece. Her catalyst of choice is nowhere in sight, though it appears someone has gotten here first. A ripped page with the penitent's prayer, crumpled and yellowed with age. A couple of hair pins scattered across the bottom of the drawer. Sealed envelopes, never to be opened.

Chaewon allows herself a sigh, pulls her hair around so it cascades over one shoulder and fastens two pins in. Things would be a lot easier if Hyejoo learned to cooperate. Just go for a walk, then; the girl's bound to come around sooner or later.

So she'll open up the leather cover, flip through the pages and point to a random passage, let fate make the choice.

_The tongue also is a fire, a world of evil among the parts of the body. It corrupts the whole body, sets the whole course of one’s life on fire, and is itself set on fire by hell._

Tucked away in a pocket with its cover closed, the words can only hold so much impact, yet they've never felt more alive than now, playing on loop through the hollow mind.

Out here in the evening air, the flames tower toward the heavens and swallow white-coated wood in dizzying swirls of light. In front of it, Hyejoo. A dark silhouette against a backdrop of blurry destruction, forgotten church collapsing in upon itself, yellow lighter twirling in the left hand.

"What'd you do that for?" Chaewon asks, clicking her tongue with words that drip in something akin to disappointment.

"Can't have you getting any hope around here," comes Hyejoo's answer, and _click_. The mosaic of shattered stained glass is complete. What a pleasant surprise.

"Finally decided to come along, haven't you?"

Hyejoo's eyes are hostile, sharp, cold as a bullet in its chamber that has yet to be fired. But she doesn't move away when Chaewon approaches and laces their hands together, leaning her head into the crook of Hyejoo's neck and humming softly.

This is the fate of the shadow: she can create her own light all she wants, but she will always be bound to that single figure. She loves Chaewon for the traces of damnation upon her lips, for the hollow apologies behind her teeth that will never touch this earth's air. She realizes she loves Chaewon too much and that this can never happen again, never again.

_I am yours, and you are mine._

Chaewon sees it all in those firelit eyes. She tips her own chin up, leans towards the ear, and holds back a laugh of pure euphoria when she brushes Hyejoo's hair to the side.

"I always knew you had it in you."

**Author's Note:**

> title is from little pistol by mother mother [breakdances]
> 
> haesunns on twt and curious cat


End file.
